


Sweat

by orphan_account



Series: Rush Summer [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Established Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Rush Valley, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bell tinkles. The door swings open with little resistance. Her shoulder almost slips on the wood, and she grabs the heated knob with her flesh fingers. Pain scorches the tips. A clatter of metal and whirring of springs. The weight on her left arm has fallen away, and if not for the careful shift-absorbing stance of her cautiously positioned feet, she would have fallen over herself.</p>
<p>A click. One of her hidden knives shoots across the floor to embed itself into the counter.</p>
<p>“Yo. Hey, someone looks like she needs some help.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Or, in which Lan Fan breaks her automail, Paninya is only too quick to overcharge, and Winry reads Wrench Wench Weekly and wins the Pansexual Powerball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a serious fic as much as it is a writing exercise, being the first time I've ever written Paninya. As such, don't expect much from it. However, I plan to use this as a starting point to kick off a series. Consider this the "chapter one prototype".
> 
> This takes place two years and change after the Promised Day, a few months after Edward's impromptu proposal. Per Brotherhood, wherein the Rockbell-Elrics move to Rush Valley, Winry has returned to open her own automail shop in Rush Valley. Garfiel is on vacation at the moment, hence his absence in the fic proper, but his return will be significant in the aforementioned series.
> 
> Winry is polyamorous and pansexual. Edward is aware and dealing with it. Lan Fan has some closeted feelings. Ling is mostly aware (he can't exactly say she's bi/pan in her stead) and is trying to help her reason them out.
> 
> Akihi is a minor OC I created for this fic. He is of Ishvalan descent and is working as Winry and Paninya's apprentice; a member of Mustang's team recommended Winry upon meeting the kid during the restoration work in Ishval. He's not too important. He does make a mean roast duck, though.
> 
> Stilly Night comes one absolutely gorgeous fanfiction of the same name, in which Stilly Night is essentially the Amestrisian version of Christmas but is five hundred billion times neater. It's been in my headcanons ever since I first happened upon that fic, which I highly recommend, so I wrote it in here without realising it until I got around to posting.
> 
> Trigger warning for some racist/sexist slurs in one particular line and for a slight sprinkling of language. Unbeta'd and unedited, as usual, because I'm trash. Enjoy!

A bell tinkles. The door swings open with little resistance. Her shoulder almost slips on the wood, and she grabs the heated knob with her flesh fingers. Pain scorches the tips. A clatter of metal and whirring of springs. The weight on her left arm has fallen away, and if not for the careful shift-absorbing stance of her cautiously positioned feet, she would have fallen over herself.

A click. One of her hidden knives shoots across the floor to embed itself into the counter.

“Yo. Hey, someone looks like she needs some help.”

Lan Fan raises her head. A dark-skinned woman perches languidly on the counter, one leg thrown over the wood, the other dangling below like bait for a sand-shark. Even with her close-cut hair strung up in a short tail protruding from the back of her head without so much as brushing against her neck and her thin clothing meant to reveal as much of her skin as possible without going entirely nude, she stinks of sweat. To be fair, all of Rush Valley stinks of sweat. And piss. And oil. Master Ling mentioned once that he could become wealthier than the automail merchants in half a day if he sold incense. A drill screams nearby. The woman yawns. When she stretches the taut fabric over her stomach rises in the faint outlines of ribs, of Amestrisian mountains that end shortly before her breasts. “Uh, speak Amestrisian? I dunno any of those, y’know—” She glances to her upper left. Follows a beam or a crack to the right. “— _eastern_ languages.” Her teeth seem slightly filed. “I know Cretan and Drachman, though, and a bit of Aerugan as well. Not too much, but I could help you, at least.” From somewhere behind the woman come a burst of angry curses and a sudden lack of drill. The quiet tingles her ears.

Her scan of the surrounding _chi_ finished, Lan Fan flicks her tongue behind her teeth. “Miss Rockbell is in the back. Edward Elric is not here, as I expected him to be, but since he is infamously unreasonable, I have no interest in him. I trust their children are not in the shop.”

The woman cocks an eyebrow and sits up on the counter. Both legs dangle with visible heaviness. Loose trousers in contrast to the skin-hugging material of her top. Automail, of course, and from the approximated thickness, either cheap—unlikely given the venue—or armed.

“Right, well, if you’re going to stand there all day, ya’ might as well close the door.” Palms against the counter, the woman slides off. Her legs appear to decompress prior to regaining their former length. Certainly automail, and hydraulic-powered at that. “And by the way, Ed’s off somewhere on some brainless trip ‘round the world. He’n Winry’re not even engaged right. Just kinda-sorta.” She snorts. “Kids.”

Lan Fan can’t tell if the woman is commenting on her assumption about children or if the woman is commenting that Edward and Winry _are_ children. She gropes for the handle for a moment before recognising her phantom fingers touching air. Frowning, she sweeps the broken automail inwards with the side of her foot. Shuts the door firmly with her flesh, never mind the heat that strikes agony down her fingers once more. “You can see the damage yourself.” Her automail port pings. Stretched beyond its limit, the skin around the steel intrusion feels dry and flaky.

“Like hell I can.” The woman retrieves a small pail of sorts and a broom. “Hope you haven’t lost any screws, ‘cause you’ll have to pay for ‘em, too.” Metal clangs against metal. She sets Lan Fan’s left arm on the counter and wipes her brow with her arm. Lan Fan’s stomach crawls. “Anyway, I’ll be the one fixin’ ya’ up.” Her eyes narrow carefully. “How’d you know I’m not ‘Miss Rockbell’ herself, anyway?  Name’s Paninya, by the  way. Friends can call me Pan.” She winks. Her irises glint Amestrisian blue. “ _You_ can call me ma’am, or you can call me your worst nightmare. A’ight?”

A span of silence. Lan Fan massages her left shoulder. At least the port itself appears firmly in place, unlike the last time Winry Rockbell had to remove the port entirely and replace it. “You’ll have to get automail all over again, more or less,” she’d warned Lan Fan over a cup of tea. Not heavenly, calming Xingese tea. But the Amestrisian kind, bland and lifeless, but with an electric energy that ground against her nerve endings. “I could do it, but I imagine you’d like it done in—Xing, right?” Then she’d handed Lan Fan a scrap of paper with hastily scrawled coupon for half off of her next repair on one side and an address on the back.

With Master Ling in Amestrisian on a supposed “meeting with the Führer”, which realistically translates to “a day spent nodding and joking around about the similar issues plaguing both nations followed by a week of visiting friends and goofing off to forget the burdens of expected divinity”, the Emperor insisted his most valuable bodyguard enjoy herself as well, much to her chagrin. Despite his assurance of the contrary, she suspects he had _something_ to do with the loosened screws that led to her automail abruptly falling apart on her cherished morning walk.

Presently she bows her head. “Yes, ma’am. I know Miss Rockbell, and as far as I know, I am not aware of the existence of skin dyes.” Lan Fan smiles ruefully. “Then again, Amestris has managed to surprise me nearly every time I explore a half-metre of this forsaken country.”

Paninya laughs. “You’re all right, then. I was kiddin’ about the ma’am thing, anyhow. Now lemme see what you’ve got goin’ on here.” She rummages through the pail.

Lan Fan chokes on her breath. “Be careful of the—!”

A knife springs up, grazing against Paninya’s forehead, and trembles in the ceiling. Utter quiet. Lan Fan clenches her right hand into a fist; sticky wetness trickles into the creases of her palm. Then the woman bursts out laughing. “Holy _shit_! Combat automail! My specialty, hell to the yes.”

“Combat automail?” Lan Fan observes her bright eyes and brighter grin as she waves the injured vassal towards the counter. She depresses a button with her thumb: With a rush of released pressure, the counter lowers, and the woman rips off a clean sheet of paper, clamping it in place on either end. “Of course. My automail is of the highest quality. How else could I serve the Emperor of Xing?”

“You sure you’re just proud of Xing? ‘Cause ya’ sound pretty proud of yourself there, too. But yeah, I specialise in combat automail. After missin’ the Promised Day, Winry’n I figured we could do better for ourselves. So while she worked on learning other styles in ‘er hometown, I went’n enrolled myself. Spent two years servin’ the military. Repairin’ their shit. They called me the Steel Queen. Heard that Winry was moving back to Rush Valley just in time and offered to help her start up the shop.” Spilling the parts onto an offset panel crossing the counter-turned-patient bed, Paninya starts scribbling numbers into a pocketbook. “Anywho, this’ll run ya’ up a little. Something like a couple thousand cenz, for the damage.” The woman glances up, twirling the pen between her nimble fingers. “You sure you wanna get Rockbell Restorations? We don’t overprice or anythin’ but we charge for our quality.”

The tips of Lan Fan’s ear burn. With a grunt, she kicks the knife stuck in the counter bottom out and catches it in her palm. She can see Paninya’s unfazed expression in the blade. “Do you mean to imply that Emperor Yao deserves anything more than the highest quality?”

Paninya blinks blankly for a second before springing back into action. “Right, the estimate’ll be at around five thousand five hundred. More if you’re missin’ any pieces. Not higher’n seven thousand. You good for that?” Lan Fan nods. “Perfect. Hop right up on the table, then. You want any coffee or anythin’? Uh, beer?” She snaps her fingers. “I know the Xingese like tea!”

Lan Fan would sooner drown herself in a lake of acid than touch Amestrisian tea again in her life. Alcohol is not an option, partially because the aforementioned lake of acid looks more pleasing than drinking on the job, and partially because neither she nor Master Ling have stomached alcohol in their lives. Fondly she recalls breaking the arm of the bartender making fun of their ‘Xingese flush’. “I wouldn’t mind coffee. Black, please, with just enough sugar. To make it palatable.”

Paninya yells across the shop and a hassled-looking Ishvalan boy appears a few minutes later with three cups of coffee, one midnight sable, the other two creamy brown. “Thanks, Aki. How’s Winry doing?”

The boy sips at his own cup. Lan Fan estimates his age at perhaps eleven or twelve. “Good, good! Th-though she’s having some issues, um, with the last order. The customer w-wanted flames engraved in the sides, and she s-said she wasn’t gonna pay ‘til she got her flames! Even though it’s causing serious damage to the outer layer of the m-metal. Miss Winry’s real frustrated!” Paninya rolls her eyes. They chatter about stupid customers, about the boy’s difficulties with memorising when to use what sort of wrench, about his embarrassment at finding the latest copy of _Wrench Wench Weekly_ on Winry’s desk. Listening with one ear, Lan Fan drains the coffee. Too sweet. She licks the inside of her dry mouth but conceals her grimace.

At last the boy vanishes and the rutting whine of the drill returns. Paninya directs Lan Fan to lay flat on her back and extend her arm—or lack thereof—to the horizontal panel provided. She rolls up the fabric of her shirt to expose the steel. “Sorry about that. I figured Win was takin’ a break, and Akihi makes the _best_ coffee this side of South City. You ever been to South City? If you give a shit about coffee you’ll go sometime, ‘cause I’ve almost never been closer to heaven than that damn cuppa.” Tapping a wrench against the side of the table, Paninya slides over a rolley chair, affixes it to the counter, and stares at the automail port. “Could I ask ya’ to take off your shirt? Not your bra or anything, just the shirt. ‘Sides, you’re lookin’ a bit warm. Or am I just that attractive?” She winks again.

“Perhaps you’re unused to how the Xingese look,” Lan Fan answers carefully, removing her shirt. The material catches on a projection from the port and a rattle of agony strikes through her as if she were slicing her arm off again. Stars bleed at the corners of her blurring vision. Her exhalation strangles and dies in her throat. Beat. Nothing that she hasn’t faced before: She rejects the initial shock instantly and relaxes her breathing. “After all, we may simply revel in how pink our cheeks are no matter the temperature.”

“Uh huh.” Selecting some sort of lethal-looking weapon and turning back to the table, Paninya whistles. “My _God_ it’s like someone played connects the dots on your stomach. Shit, you’ve got more decorations than a Stilly Night tree.”

Above and below her bindings trails of scars crisscross her flesh. Stripes, streaks, the occasional blooming petals of a stabbing. The largest extends from her hips to disappear under her bindings and reappear at her armpit: An assassin from the Fa, disgusted at the equalisation of the Clans, had gotten uncomfortably close to murdering the Emperor in his sleep in the months prior to her adaption to the disparity between guarding a prince in the open and protecting an emperor in his own house. At her request Master Ling had not punished the Fa Clan, although he had considered it. “It comes with serving Emperor Yao.” Lan Fan could not keep the pride from her voice had her life depended upon it. “There are many who disagree. Who believe that the Emperor should not have altered the Fifty Clans. That he could have continued to disregard the conditions of the poor. There are those who wish to retain their power. And then there are those who are fools.” She crooks a smile as she unties her bun to lie down properly. Her recently trimmed hair reaches halfway down her neck. “Oftentimes they are all three at once.”

Paninya shrugs. “Far as I can tell scars aren’t really a thing to be proud of. I’m prouder when I see how much my scars’re healin’.” She seats herself before the automail port. “‘Course, that’s just my two cenz. Oh, this is gonna hurt. Gotta disconnect the nerves, sorry there.” Lan Fan grinds her jaws together. A sharp, biting pain sings out from her shoulder and radiates to chatter her teeth and jolt her toes. “There we go. Now, let’s see here.”

Clicks and clacks. Paninya cradles the port delicately enough, fingers curved around the metal. Slapping on a pair of what Lan Fan presumes to be magnification goggles, the mechanic commences work. Occasionally she finds a particular piece from the pail or digs around her drawers for a certain screw. Lan Fan turns her head to rest her cheek on the pillow and lowers her eyelids. When she has naught to do, as rare as that occurs, she returns to reading _chi_ and locating the most powerful lines of the Dragon’s Pulse. A small pool of _chi_ racing erratically beyond the borders of the house. A lizard or desert mouse. A larger one, sedentary, immotile, near the front. Winry’s dog, whatever her name is. A fluttery spark of _chi_ in the attic. Akihi, possibly searching for a part for Winry. Outside, a larger sea of _chi_ , the denizens of Rush Valley coming and going. She practises tracking specific trails of _chi_ through the crowd. Pleasantly she notes how her range has extended significantly over the last two years.

At length the mechanic huffs and wipes her forehead on her sleeve. “How’d you get this injury, anyway?”

Likewise Lan Fan slicks sweat from her brow with her arm. “I took a walk this morning under the guise of patrolling the area. Rush Valley is different from most places I’ve seen, after all.”

“Mmhm.” The mechanic hands her a wet washcloth, which she gratefully lays on her upper face. Cool water trickles into her hair. “Lemme guess, someone challenged you to automail arm wrestling.”

“I had paused to purchase breakfast.” She reminds herself to teach Master Ling the wonders of warm pretzels. “Evidently the person behind me thought it’d be funny if he stole my order.” Lan Fan folds the washcloth and sets it aside. Balling it up, Paninya tosses it into the wastebin. The bin vibrates from the force, and the mechanic smirks. “Because I have no time to waste on idiots, I tripped him and ate my breakfast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then one of his cronies, likely suffering from the same lack of brains that the first man was, said he recognised me as that ‘coolie bitch’ with the ‘squinty-eyed thief’.”

The wrench falls out of Paninya’s hand and clatters noisily on the floor. The mechanic’s fists clench, her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “That fucker said _what_?”

Lan Fan lifts her hand. “Personally, I could not care about what garbage could possibly stink from the mouth of some simpleton foolish enough to try to steal from a young woman. But an insult to one of my friends—” She swallows. “—I mean, to Emperor Yao, I could not stand.”

“I hope you sent that guy to the fucking hospital.” She spits on the ground and stamps the saliva with the heel of her boot. “If not the morgue.”

“Fortunately for him,” answers Lan Fan with what one might even call a smile, “I had no interest in being arrested. I did, however, punch his face hard enough to break his jaw. And then my arm—which has never needed repairs until now—exploded over the ground.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens with stuff like this. They’re fine’n dandy for a long while before blowing up in your face.” Lan Fan blushes. “Anyhow I’m glad you beat him. I would’ve kicked his ass to kingdom come. Hats off to your, uh, restraint, eh?” Grinning, the mechanic glances at an uncharacteristically oversized pink watch on her left wrist complete with glittery red hearts. Lan Fan bites her tongue to keep from inquiring about the obvious story behind tha tone. “I’ve fixed up your port so it shouldn’t hurt anymore. Stabilised it, y’know.” She touches the metal extension of her body gingerly, feathers over the internal wiring. Except her fingers hit a smooth circular lid instead. “Oh, the cap? Yeah, that’s to keep the dust out.” Lan Fan frowns. Paninya sighs. “Never broke your arm before, eh? Yeah, remakin’ the arm’s gonna take at least a couple’a days. We’ll call you when it’s done, if ya’ give us a number.”

Her legs shake. She presses her palm to her knee to quell the movement. Gooseflesh crawls over her skin. Her tongue flashes through the multitude of curses she knows in Xingese, Amestrisian, Ronshitese, Drachman. When she speaks her voice is a measured, flat metronome. “I don’t have a couple of days. I apologise sincerely, Miss Paninya, but even this brief excursion is precious time away from my—”

“Your li’l loverboy’s gonna be fine.” Paninya offers her a comforting smile, but Lan Fan’s heart has thundered through her organs and sinks somewhere into the ground. “I promise, ‘kay? If it’s that much of an inconvenience, and since ya’ know Winry, I could ask her if we could maybe bump it up in the queue. But even then, at least a day or two.”

Lan Fan breathes through her nose and exhales through her mouth until her lungs have ceased to burn. “Th-thank you, Miss Paninya.” Her words exit her mouth as if from far away. Her throat feels arid. She takes the pocketbook and scratches out the number of the dinky hotel which she and Master Ling had rented. Having ditched his usual guard in favour of waltzing around in civilian clothing, Master Ling has inadvertently opened himself to attack, and worse, and now the laughing face of fate has left her unable to protect him.

A flicker of _chi_. Footsteps. Perhaps the Ishvalan boy is return—

“If you’re that worried about your li’l Lingy-poo, you guys can crash here.”

Cheeks scorched, Lan Fan flicks her head back so rapidly her neck aches. Winry strides in wearing a zipper-bra and a pair of shorts flooded with pockets, and even so her skin shines with sweat. “I finished the fires, by the way. That Mrs Dragbottom had better pay up.”

Paninya sniggers. “It’s Draugbodden.”

“Maybe I could take her seriously if she didn’t expect engravings on already half a millimetre thick sheets of frail metal.” Winry rolls her eyes, then rolls them again for good measure, before taking a breath. “And hey Lan Fan. S’been a while.”

“Winry.” Lan Fan inclines her head.

“Ling told me he was going to Amestris in the summer, but I hadn’t expected him here so soon.” The woman smirks; Lan Fan shrinks. For all of the immortal demons, hundred-twenty-kilograms slabs of muscle, and lethal shadow-monsters she’s faced in her lifetime, none can possibly strike the same terror in her heart as a knowing expression from an Amestrisian “And speaking of his letters, I heard you vocalise pretty well.”

The ceiling has an interesting crack extending from the south side to the window. No, not a crack, but a splatter of paint. Black against blue, the latter also utilised to paint around the edges of the floor. Hm, Lan Fan could gaze at that crack for days. Yes, perhaps she will.

“Okay, okay, sorry, I forgot that was still a little, heh, under wraps.” Winry giggles. The Ishvalan boy follows behind her with a veritable mountain of gadgetry towering over his scrawny form, and when Lan Fan finishes examining the crack she begins to examine the automail repair tools. _Chi_ pulses brightly behind her. Angling her head slightly, Lan Fan finds herself staring at the two women kissing. Paninya’s fingers tangle in cascades of sunlight; Winry’s hands cup the other woman’s jaw and bottom.

Lan Fan’s mouth drops open. A strange sensation coils in her stomach, like a warm cat awoken from a sunshine nap. The sensation stretches and almost begins to purr. Her cheeks take on a flushed heat, and the inside of her mouth, far from drying, slicks with saliva.

The Ishvalan boy smiles, nudges her arm, and carries the mountain of mechanics into a side-room.

By the time the two women pull away with a soft, moist _pop_ , Lan Fan has dutifully averted her gaze. “Winry.”

The mechanic licks her lips. “Sorry if you weren’t expecting that. Uh, anyway, you and Ling can stay with us if you’re worried about him.”

The vassal cautiously rummages through her box of Amestrisian, deliberately selecting each word and carefully polishing every syllable. “I was under the . . . impression that you were engaged to Edward Elric.”

Winry meets Paninya’s gaze for a beat. Then the two break laughing, stomachs clutched in shaking hands, shoulders jerking back and forth, foreheads cracking audibly against one another. Winry reels back whilst Paninya plunges onto all fours, massaging her temples. “Ugh, is there an alkahetrist in the house?” the former mumbles. Her apparent lover snags her hand and starts to pull herself up but merely manages to smack herself with some fifty-eight kilograms of toppling blonde. The counter creaks. Footsteps on the tile. Lan Fan drags them both to standing positions and rivets her best glare of frustrated exasperation onto their sheepish faces. “Sorry.” She coughs into her left hand and wipes it on her shorts. “Yeah, Ed and I’re gonna get together when he gets back from his discovery.” Paninya snickers. “But in the meantime we agreed to an open relationship.”

Lan Fan’s eyes widen before she can stop herself. “Open relationship?”

“Mmhm.” Paninya throws an arm around Winry’s shoulders and squeezes her close. “She told him it was in case he met any li’l pretties on the road. She told _me_ it was because she missed me in Rush Valley.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Winry covers her flushed face with an arm. “I missed your automail, not you.”

Paninya clangs her legs against one another. “Not my fault you’ve got a ladyboner for the stuff. Ed, me, who’s next?” She waggles an eyebrow. “Xerxes, Cretan. Gonna check off another nationality, Win?”

Lan Fan blinks slowly. Her tongue lashes out behind her teeth. She forces her muted vocal cords to function, to say anything. “Open relationship?” she repeats stupidly.

The women exchange glances once more. Winry smiles, arching her eyebrows just enough to remind Lan Fan of a wildcat come upon a trapped fledgling.

“Tell Ling you guys can stay here while we fix the automail.” The woman beams.

Lan Fan’s knees quiver. From the back the Ishvalan boy announces dinner in half an hour. She swallows, hard. Attempts to clench her fingers around her forearm but only succeeding in grasping empty space. “I . . .” She inhales. “I think I will.”

“Great!” Winry punches her arm lightly, friendily, and she tries on a weak smile. “It’s great seeing you around, anyway. Pan, go close up shop.”

The mechanic salutes her and hits the button that raises the counter to its original level prior to locking the door. A flurry of tools disappearing and metal banging. _Chi_ swirling around her. An unanswered question hanging in the air like a stone upon her heart.

“You too,” Lan Fan says to no one in particular. Her left shoulder twinges from the absence. Her stance feels unbalanced from the vacancy. She stares at her flesh hand, slowly curling and uncurling her rough-tipped fingers, and wonders what exactly she just got herself into.


End file.
